


Undiscovered

by ahestele



Series: Undiscovered [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahestele/pseuds/ahestele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overachieving successful Canadian ex-pat and snarky deli worker collide. Based on the film 'She's Out Of Your League.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into this fandom. Many profound thanks to mosgirl9, dine, and altri uccelli for their patient, thoughtful, constructive, and encouraging beta and for not running at the sight of my comma fetish. ;-) I adjust and tweak works constantly so any mistakes are mine alone.

 

He had just finished getting the sale signs ready when everyone at the deli counter look up in one almost choreographed move. He made sure the Boar’s Head bologna had a good seal and was tucked in the fridge tight before walking over, standing next to James, and looking, too.

And...yeah, okay. If anything was worth some staring it was that ass. It strained and flowed under the truly obscene stretch of the thin workout shorts.

However, it came attached to one of the judgiest looking motherfuckers Patrick had ever seen and he’d seen his share. Patrick watched the ass’s owner pick up a loaf of rye bread and turn it around to read the ingredients like they had personally spit in his direction. After several seconds of reading, the ass’s owner put the loaf of bread back down, chose another one, read THOSE ingredients, and finally placed a third, different, loaf in his shopping cart.

He then bent over to poke at the basket of organic apples and a collective sigh went up behind the counter. James gave a small, pained whimper and dropped his chin on Patrick shoulder. He had to crouch to do it, the tree trunk dipshit, and his hand clutched Patrick’s shoulder dramatically.

“Come on,” Patrick nudged him with a laugh. Sure, the ass’s owner had neatly cut dark hair, a smooth jaw, and what looked like huge capable hands, but that look, man. Patrick would be worried about tracking dust on his carpet or something.

“For real, dude, look at that ass! It’s EPIC.”

“It’s alright.” Patrick shrugged and James gave him the side eye.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you picked up?”

Patrick opened his mouth to answer,

“Not counting Tyler.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, shifting under James’ snark.

What the hell did James know, anyway? He hadn’t had a date since forever, and he’d never even had a real boyfriend OR girlfriend. Either one. James wasn’t usually picky but it didn’t help him at all. So maybe Patrick and Tyler were on a break but Patrick figured that was okay. They were pretty young, had hooked up right out of high school and probably needed some space before committing. Patrick was mature enough to recognize that. He couldn’t help it if James was a horndog with no appreciation for the finer points of having a steady partner. And all that shit.

Anyway, it had been a year and Patrick had plans for ending the situation on their one year see-other-people-versary. James would see. Patrick was going to…

“Heeeeey, may I help you? Hi.” he was literally shoved aside when the Epic Ass’s owner approached the deli counter looking at the selections with a critical eye, one hand gripping the shopping cart while the other held an iPhone. He looked back and forth between the two every few seconds.

Patrick still had the flip phone his parents got him when he graduated community college.

Epic Ass hadn’t even really looked at James and, yeah, no thank you. No ass was worth that attitude.

Patrick ambled over to start tidying up the work station since Megan had also found a reason to hover near the front of the counter in case of a pickup emergency.

“Yeah, uh, can I have a pound of Boar's Head roast beef, a pound of chicken breast…,” Canadian, Patrick realized, recognizing the accent because of course Mr. Epic Ass would be Canadian. He should have recognized the ‘tude from there. As if they had anything in Canada but moose and hockey and more moose. Hockey wasn’t enough to save it.

“Get the man his breast, god,” James nudged Megan who tried to glare and smile at the same time and just succeeded in looking confused. Patrick rolled his eyes. He worked with idiots, seriously.

“...and half a pound of lean turkey.” Epic Ass absolutely did not appreciate the attention, no Sir, if the disapproving hairy eyeball he was levelling at James was any indication.

“Here’s the breast.” Megan held the wrapped deli meat and smiled invitingly at Epic Ass while standing really straight so her own not unimpressive chest pulled at the white apron. Epic Ass ignored her and James grabbed the wrapped package back with a scoff.

“Thank you,” EA returned suspiciously, as if he suspected everyone was having a laugh at his expense and not falling over themselves for him instead. Patrick would have told him no one but Patrick was having a laugh, but Patrick was enjoying the humorless shoot-down of James’ best moves too damn much.

“So would you like to try our _sausage_. It’s…,” James leaned over with a shit eating grin, “On _sale”_

“Excuse me?” Patrick looked over his shoulder and turned back fast because, shit, dude had some serious crazy eyes going and he half expected James to dissolve into dust just from the enormous disdain on EA’s face.

“Oh, nothing! Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Cash or credit? Debit? American Express Platinum, maybe?” James fished and Patrick could hear the grin in his voice. James was actually busting out the John Hughes one liners, the loser. No wonder his cousin never picked up and often got the crap beat out of him. He had no sense of self preservation.

“Debit.”

“Can I see some ID, please?”

What? Patrick stole another look while Epic Ass grudgingly fished another card out of the wallet he took from his hoodie. They didn’t require ID for debit cards.

“Is this your, current address, sir?”

Patrick winced at the annoyed huff that followed. “No. I’m from Manitoba.”

“Yeah. We’re gonna need a secondary form of ID. It’s policy.”

“I’ve never heard of that policy.” Epic Ass’s voice sounded really pissed. Patrick moved behind the cutting machine to keep watching.

“Well, Mr.,” James made a show of checking the debit card in his hand, “Toes, I guess those other guys just let you slide.”

“It’s Toews. The ‘w’ has a ‘v’ sound.”

“Oooh, I see.” James nodded in understanding. By now both he and Megan were not so secretly listening. “We’ll take several forms of secondary ID. Gym membership. Business card. Phone number.” The dumb shit actually _winked_ and Patrick shook his head.

“Is that so.” Mr. _Tayves_ w-has-the-v-sound looked like he wanted to strangle James.

“Kane.” Patrick jumped at the sound of Mr. Quennville’s voice behind him. Megan disappeared immediately but James was too preoccupied to notice, the dumb SHIT. “What is your cousin doing?”

“I’m on it.” Patrick hurried over and cut off James just as he said, “...now I _could_ make an exception….”

“I’ll add those up for you, sir.”

“Hey!” James protested then froze when Mr. Quennville called his name Patrick glanced back to see their manager crook his finger sternly and James start to slink over.

Patrick returned the ID -Jonathan- he noticed, and started punching amounts on the register.

  
“That was really unprofessional.” said Jonathan Toews-’w’-has-a-’v’-sound said and Patrick forced himself to smile as he bagged up the purchases. /happyperkyhappyperky/  He ran the mantra over and over in his head, the only way he knew to keep on keeping on with the cheeriness. It hurt his cheeks.

 

“Sorry for the inconvenience,”

“I’d like to speak with your manager.”

Fuck, really? _Fucking James, damnit._ His cousin had already been shifted to three different departments in four months. The store wasn’t even that big. One more and he was in trouble. Patrick jabbed at the register while trying to hang on to his smile.

“I’m not sure the manager’s available right now…”

“How do you know?”

“I...don’t, but….”

“Then why don’t you check before blowing me off.” Jonathan Toews interrupted.

“I’m not blowing you off,” Patrick gritted. He had lost all his happy perky thoughts and stared stonily at Jonathan Toews as he thrust out the bag full of meat., “Sir.”

“I think that’s subjective.”

 _I think you’re a dick._ “Our manager’s busy right now, okay?”

“Doing what?”

“Reaming out the guy that just waited on you,” Patrick blurted without thinking and felt himself blush because SHIT, he didn’t usually let crappy customers get to him like this, “Um. Sir.”

Jonathan Toews looked a little mollified as he put the deli meat in the cart.

Patrick tried to damage control,“I can...give him a message.”

“No,” the magnanimous douche said, shaking his head while taking in Patrick with a critical eye. Patrick lifted his chin like he wasn’t standing there in a dirty apron and that stupid beanie hat they made everyone wear.

“Have a great day.” Patrick smiled his most artificial cheesy grin but Jonathan Toews just kept staring at him like they were playing chicken. As if Patrick didn’t have enough balls to keep looking.

“Thanks, uh...,” Jonathan Toews AKA Epic Ass finally broke the eye contest to glance at Patrick’s chest. “...Patrick.”

“Sure.”

Patrick watched him push his cart away, the thin nylon shorts hugging his ass, the play of muscles on the powerful thighs like waves on an ocean.

“BUSTED!,” Patrick jumped at James’ voice and scowled as his cousin cackled, “Haha! Caught you looking!”

“How are you not fired?” Patrick demanded and James shrugged expansively.

“Nine lives, baby! Nine lives. Hey, what did Hot Ass of My Dreams say?”

“Nothing. He’s a fucking douchenozzle, just in case you were wondering.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” James shrugged and Patrick rolled his eyes and went to slice honey ham.  
“Did he mention me?”

“KANE,” They both started at the carrying voice. Quennville looked out from around the corner. “Not you.You.” Their manager pointed at James and Patrick immediately bowed his head and kept working,“Didn’t I tell you to clean the freezer?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” James saluted.

“Then get to work.” James gave Patrick a wink before walking around back to clean the freezer, one of the worst jobs Patrick had ever in his life done.

James had worked at Bockwinkel’s longer but Patrick had done better. Patrick had worked counter at the Walmart Deli and McDonald’s before that so this gig was pretty sweet compared to those. He still didn’t know how James managed to even get hired, let alone stay hired since the place sold bottles of wine that cost more than Patrick’s whole paycheck and specialized in ‘gourmet for your every day’. Exactly the kind of place he’d expect Mr. Epic Ass Douchenozzle to shop at.

Give Patrick some Mexican food any day.

Sighing, he hoped James didn’t say something awful to reach the end of his nine lives. Working here wouldn’t be nearly as fun without him.

 

JON

“What? You look more uptight than usual.” Sharpy said to Jon as they waited for their boarding call.

“I cant find my phone.”

“You’re kidding.”

Jon ignored Sharpy’s comment and dug through his carry on bag one more time. The firm denial that he could have possibly lost track of something so vital to his work and life was starting to fade. He couldn’t lose his personal phone, of course, the contents of which Jon could easily replace. It had to be the one with his work contacts.

“I thought that thing was surgically grafted to your person.”

“Shit.” Jon ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Have you called it?”

“I just realized.”

“Here,” Sharpy punched out numbers on his own phone..

“Hello, who is this?” He waited and his eyebrows rose, “I’m pretty sure you _aren’t_ the person with a new iPhone…..Bockwinkel’s?” Sharpy looked at Jon questioningly and Jon motioned for the phone.

“Hello, this is Jonathan Toews.”

“Of course it is,” the person on the other end of the line sighed and Jon closed his eyes because he recognized that voice. He’d actually been thinking about that voice because he hadn’t ever had a worker at grocery deli talk to him like that kid had. Jon knew he could be a hardass; that he had no patience for stupidity. Unless people knew him they rarely called him on it.

“I left my phone at the store.”

“Um, I know. I’m using it to talk to you?”

“Uh, right. Right,” he repeated and rubbed his temple.

Sharpy gave him an amused glance and Jon looked away in irritation.

Their plane was boarding soon and he wouldn’t be back for three days.

“It’s my work phone and I, uh, I really need it.”

“It’ll be at the store at the courtesy service counter.”

“I’ll be out of town for a few days…”

“No one’s going to download a bunch of shi- stuff on your phone before you pick it up Mr. Toews.” He pronounced Jon’s name correctly with emphasis. Jon noticed.

“Look, I’m in charge of an event at the Adler Planetarium this Friday. Why don’t you bring it by there? I’ll leave your tickets at will-call.” Sharpy had leaned back and was watching him with interest like Jon was an interesting tv show, the shit. Jon didn’t know why he’d picked Sharpy to be business partners with and not one of his nicer best friends.

“You want me to bring your phone to you at a museum instead of picking it up?” Patrick from Bockwinkel’s said like Jon had proposed he hitchhike to Russia.

“I’ll pay you for your trouble…” Sharpy’s face got alarmed and he started shaking his head making slashing motions across his neck. He was such a freak.

“Wow, really?” Patrick from Bockwinkel said, the lazy skepticism thick and, alright, maybe Sharpy knew what he was doing even _without_ Jon’s explanation. “Does that work, throwing money around to get your way?”

“Uh. Usually…,” This was getting way more complicated than it should.

“Nice. Well, I’m not your gopher, or whatever..”

“What? I wasn’t. I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, you did. Your phone is safe at the store. Have a great evening.”

“WAIT,” He didn’t know he’d shouted until several people in the waiting area looked over and Sharpy shook his head regrettfully . Jon ignored him and began to pace. “Don’t hang up.”

“Or? You gonna try to get me fired, too?”

“Please,” Jon qualiified. Sharpy made an ‘O’ with his mouth and covered it with both hands. Jon flipped him off then felt himself blush when an older lady huffed at him in disapproval, “Don’t hang up. I realize it’s an imposition but I’d appreciate it very much if you would bring the phone to the event. It starts at seven.”

“Is this, like, a challenge for you now? To see if you can get me to dragass across town to give you your phone?” Patrick from Bockwinkel’s asked curiously. It so absolutely was, Jon realized.

“Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

“Well, since you admitted you’re ridiculous I guess I could do it.”

“I never admitted…”

“What was that?” The annoying, annoying kid from the deli seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Jon pressed his lips together and took a breath through his nose. Sharpy laughed at him in silence.

“Nothing. I need your last name. For the tickets.”

“Kane. Patrick Kane. And James Kane.”

“You’re bringing someone?” He immediately did not like that idea for reasons not clear to himself _at all._ Was this his boyfriend? Wait, was he _married_ with the same last name? Was that legal in Chicago now?

“My cousin, from the store. Dude, I don’t even know you. You could be a crazy,murdering lunatic. Safety in numbers.”

“...Fine. Your tickets will be at the front.”

“Aces. You’ll have your phone on Friday.” Patrick from Bockwinkel’s hung up and Jon handed Sharpy’s phone back with a grimace.

“That was fascinating,” Sharpy declared, still chuckling, “Who exactly did you insult that caused you to have at least twelve expressions all at once?”

“Kid from the deli where I left my phone.” Jon muttered.

“Elite Passengers for flight 97 to New York please begin boarding at Gate 12.” the loudspeaker blared as they went to stand in line.

“Yeah? Is he cute?”

“No,” Jon said resolutely. He believed it totally. He remembered the kid being short for a guy, a lot shorter than the one trying to pick Jon up over the gourmet deli meats. Large blue eyes sparking with anger even as dimples flashed on an obviously fake smile. Tufts of unruly dark blond curls poked out from under the hair net and the unfortunate hat the store required them to wear. No, not cute.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Sharpy wagged a finger at him, “Your voice says ‘no’ but there’s ‘yes’ in your eyes.”

“Fuck off. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sharpy kept chuckling as they took their seats.

Jon made notes to himself on his tablet for the duration of the trip, including arranging to have a Plan B phone ready to go from now on, personal and business.

Preparation was the name of the game.

 

 

PATRICK

“Whoa, whoa, back up!” James held up both arms in disbelief, “Are you telling me The Epic Ass, MY Epic Ass, left his phone at the counter and called and he asked you to bring it to him at a PARTY?”

“Basically?” Patrick shrugged before popping more caramel corn in his mouth.

They were at Patrick’s apartment watching the Bears pre-season game on TV. Patrick preferred hockey and bled Hawks red but it was off season, so he made do. Andrew, who he’d known since high school, sat on the other side of him and Leddy, who he’d met his first year of community college, leaned forward on Patrick’s old easy chair, elbows on his knees, expression confused as he tried to understand.

“So, this guy is an ass?”

“Oh, he’s an ass alright.” Patrick smirked and James shook his head as he took a swig of beer.

“What Pat meant to say is he _has_ an ass. The most PERFECT ass.”

“Look, that’s a matter of taste, am I right?” Andrew asked no one in particular since his eyes never left the screen. Patrick pointed his Bud Lite at him in agreement and James scoffed.

“Some things are just, like, universally accepted to be perfect. The Hawk’s season last year.” They all toasted to the Hawk’s season. “Da’Nella’s Pizza pie.” They all raised their beers for pizza pie Patrick would honestly marry if it were a person. “And this guy’s ass!”

Patrick and Andrew exchanged looks but you had to let James run out his mouth once he got on a tangent.

“I’m not sure you can categorize that the same way. Because it’s a person,” Leddy added, bless him. He still tried to reason with James which just, no. Patrick had seen James’ mom literally cry at the jacked up shit that came out of his cousin’s mouth.

“Except for how I _just did._ BOOM!” James raised his arms in triumph and almost knocked Patrick’s beer out of his hand.

“Hey! Crazy person!” Patrick snapped. “You better not act this way when we go tomorrow.”

“You’re taking him?” Andrew turned to Patrick in disbelief and Patrick shrugged again. That whole conversation had been so weird and he’d been halfway bullshitting just to see how far he could wind up Jonathan-my-shit-doesn’t-stink-Toews. Next thing he knew they were going to this thing at the Planetarium where Patrick hadn’t been since he was nine.

“Excuse you, man. He obviously knows who the best choice is for this occasion. Am I right?”

Patrick took a swallow of beer so he wouldn’t have to answer.

“Sure, dude.” Andrew patted James’ knee, “Sure.”

o0oo0o0o0o0o0o

The inside of the Planetarium looked lit up like a Christmas tree against the Chicago night. Patrick parked his Focus in one of the last spaces left and made sure the sainted phone was in his pocket.

He’d actually wondered for a second whether he should change out of his work clothes but then thought, fuck that. Jonathan Towes knew what he did for a living. Fuck him if he didn’t like it.

Of course before he’d gotten out the door his sisters had all texted at the same time and made him ‘at least’ change into a button down under his hoodie and wear real shoes. Patrick put his foot down against slacks and wore jeans.

James, who had no sisters, wore jeans and a long sleeved tee.

“Dude, this is awesome! Check it out!” James looked up at the huge hanging planets and nearly walked right into a waiter carrying a tray full of party snacks. Patrick pulled him back by the shirt and avoided disaster by inches.

“Sorry,” James smiled at the waiter and the waiter grinned back then took a snack and threw it in the air, catching it in his mouth.

“Righteous.” James admired. Leave it to James to almost crash into the one unprofessional waiter. Maybe they had, like, a homing beacon that drew them to their own kind.

“Thanks.”

“So, hey, you know where we can find Jonathan Toews? I’ve got his phone.” Patrick looked around starting to realize even with the button down and real shoes he felt way underdressed for this business.

“Oh, yeah. He said to watch out for you. He’s the one over there talking to the hot guy.” Patrick looked over all the sparkly people and found Jonathan Toews in deep conversation with some really good looking dude who was managing to rock a plaid suit-jacket and navy slacks. “He’s the one with the crazy eyes looking all constipated.”

Patrick laughed, “Yeah, I see him. Better not let him hear you, though.”

The waiter just rolled his eyes and popped another snack, “Got it covered, man. He’s my brother.” They watched him bop away and walk right past someone who tried to get something from the tray, the person’s hand left hanging in midair. Well, at least one person in that family had a sense of humor, Patrick thought as they wiggled through the crowd.

“....he’s just young. Give him some time.”

“He’s twenty, Sharpy. How much time does he need? I mean, he didn’t even bring the right _tie_...”

“Excuse me,” Patrick tried to politely interrupt. Jonathan Toews looked over at him and stared for so long for a second Patrick wondered if he hadn’t completely misunderstood the instructions to be here. And wow, Patrick could admit Toews cleaned up pretty good; he had no choice. He wasn’t blind. Toews’ dark gray suit looked custom the way it hugged his shoulders and the light blue of the shirt was a good color on him. No way did he pick out the tie with constellations and stars on his own, though. “Um, here’s your phone.” Patrick held it out. Toews took it and still said nothing.

“So you’re the one he made bring his baby all the way out here. He’s got no manners, at all. Don’t know what to do with him.” the hot guy held out his hand, green eyes creased in a smile that Patrick returned before even realizing, accepting the handshake, “Hey Patrick, I’m Patrick, but everyone calls me Sharpy.”

“‘Sup. This is my cousin…,” James had disappeared all of a sudden and Patrick saw him holding a drink and laughing with some girls halfway across the room, “Was my cousin James.”

Toews finally spoke.“Thanks for bringing this,”.

“No problem. Service with a smile and all that stuff.”

“Still, I should pay…”

“..you the best compliment ever for the favor, right Tazer?” Sharpy interrupted smoothly and Patrick lifted his eyebrows.

 “Tazer?”

“Nickname. My kid gave it to him. She’s a genius.”

“Works.” Patrick admitted and Toews glared at Sharpy which should cancel out the way he looked really tall in the suit and how the midnight blue of the tie set off his dark eyes. The Universe could be really unfair sometimes.

“Well I think I’m gonna head out..” Patrick looked around for James and didn’t see him but Sharpy protested.

“What? You gotta work tomorrow?”

“Nah, not till four but…”

“Then you should stay! Hang out, get a drink. There’s an open bar and food out back. It’s the least we could do,right, Taze?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Toews agreed, finally putting his phone in his pocket.

“I guess for awhile,” Patrick hedged and Sharpy beamed.

“Excellent! Tazer here can show you the chow.”

“‘I’m good, thanks. I can find it.” Patrick smiled his thanks but Sharpy looked like he was just as used to getting his way as Toews, except with smiles instead of death stares.

“He doesn’t mind. Do you, Taze?”

“I don’t.”

“It’s really cool,” Patrick insisted, heading off Toews just as he’d started to walk forward. “I should probably find my cousin first. Thanks, though.” Smiling mostly at Sharpy he started to wade through the young, loud crowd.

Whether James knew it or not, none of these people were going to give either of them the time of day.

 

JON

Jon frowned as he watched Patrick Kane weave through the crowd. He glanced at Sharpy who looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Were you a tool to him at his place of work?”

“No!” Jon protested.

“Did you try to get him fired?”

“No,” Jon said. “I just asked to talk to the manager about his cousin’s unprofessional behavior.”

“Well that explains it.” Sharpy sighed.

“Explains what?”

“Why he flashed those dimples at me and looked at YOU like you’re a tool.”

“His cousin offered to sell me some sausage on _sale._ That’s…” Sharpy burst into laughter. “It’s not funny.”

“It is HILARIOUS. Oh, my god, your face.” Jon ignored him and turned back to the crowd but it had swallowed up Patrick Kane and his stupid hair and ill-fitting hoodie. Not that Jon cared, really. Except the disdain in the huge blue eyes when they looked at him had been impressive, even more so when compared to the open, engaging way Patrick Kane smiled at Sharpy. And, okay, most people smiled at Sharpy that way. There was a reason Jon was in charge of operations for their promotions company and Sharpy took lead on the face-to-face. For a while Jon had just looked too young-- ‘babyfaced’ he’d heard several times-- which was enraging, really. He shouldn’t have to bust out his MBA to prove his worth. People might not handle his focus initially but they eventually respected his dedication and skills.

Except for Patrick Kane, who liked Sharpy better before Jon even got a chance to prove he could be just as friendly and personable.

That was just unacceptable.

“Exactly how long are you going to wait before going after him?” Sharpy asked still regarding Jon with high amusement.

Jon stood for a few seconds before starting into the fray.

“And Taze!” Sharpy called. Jon looked over his shoulder warily. “For the love of Pete _do not_ , under any circumstances, offer him money for any reason!”

“Okay,” Jon agreed, only half listening.

“Do _not_ do it” Sharpy warned, but Jon was already scanning the crowd for honey blond hair, a grey hoodie, and quick, bright smile.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It took him almost two tries of circling the party, being stopped to receive compliments on the event, and dealing with an hors d’oeuvre emergency but he finally succeeded.

Patrick Kane stood alone looking at the majestic view from one of the mezzanine levels. The lights of Chicago glistened across the water, beautiful and remote. A hand rested on the railing. He had clever hands, Jon noticed. Blunt nails, capable looking. Worker hands.

Jon’s hands had looked like that all through childhood into college until he’d stopped playing hockey.

“Good view.” he said, standing next to Patrick, but he just kept looking across the river silently. In Jon’s experience most people would say something, anything, to ease the tension. Apparently, not in this case.

“Did you find your cousin?”

“Yeah. He’s talking to some girl, so. Gonna check with him later.” The quirk of his lips said he didn’t think it would be too much later.

“Uh, wanted to thank you for bringing the phone out.”

“Sharpy thanked me already.”

“ _I_ wanted to thank you.” Jon stressed and Patrick turned to him, expression curious. “I could have- _should have_ \- just picked it up at the store.”

“Well, then you wouldn’t have gotten to see my awesome face again.” Patrick shrugged, “Obviously.”

“Your awesome face?” Jon repeated, smiling a little.

“Fuck you, my face is great.” Patrick claimed dismissively, “Everyone says.”

“Would all those people be related to you?”

Patrick’s brows started to knit and he looked annoyed until Jon ducked his head to hide the smile that kept wanting to bust out. When he looked up Patrick was shaking his head at the view again, but he kept trying and failing not to smile, too.

“No, not _all_ of them are related to me, asshole.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure your mom thinks you’re very handsome.”

“Hey, step off my mom, dude.” Patrick punched at him playfully but Jon blocked with an arm only to have a quick, light jab at his stomach which he turned into, laughing. Patrick laughed with him finally, a smile so easy and wide Jon realized he’d been holding out at least a little, even with Sharpy. Sharpy was right; those dimples just did not quit.

“Do you follow the Hawks?”

The blue eyes stared across the water then, back, curious. His lashes were ridiculous. “I played as a kid and I live in Chicago. What do you think?”

“Want to go watch training camp tomorrow?”

“That sold out months ago.”

“We do about three events a year for the organization.”

Jon could see him struggle with a response, teeth worrying the lush flesh of his mouth. Jon had to really concentrate not to stare and he was losing, what the hell. “I have to work.”

“Not until four.”

“Okay, what is your deal?” Patrick finally burst out, “‘Cause I don’t get…”

“Maybe you need to find out,” Jon interrupted smooth. He looked across the water too before Patrick picked up that Jon was perving on his mouth, which would be embarrassing. “Unless you’re scared. I understand.”

“Right, like you scare me,” he scoffed and Jon smiled to himself.

“No, it’s okay. I’m too intense for most people.”

“ _Intense_ ,” Patrick repeated with more disbelief than Jon thought was warranted. He’d even done little rabbit ears to emphasize his point, “Who told you that, the personality fairy?”

Actually, Jon’s ex had mentioned it. A few exes. Since he’d started dating. “Nah, you know. Can’t handle it, you can’t handle it.”

“Fuck you, when’s it start.”

“Eleven.”

“Meet you there.”

“I can pick you up.”

“Not if you don’t know where I live. Later.” Jon realized James had been lurking around in the background and he watched the taller boy give Jon furtive glances and start talking in rapid whispers as they walked away..

He watched until Patrick disappeared around the corner. He watched for a long time.

 

PATRICK

“So, I know we took a break to uh, see other people. And, wow, it’s been a _really_ long break. Like, almost a year! But it wanted to say that,” Patrick took a breath, “That I think we’ve really gotten a lot out of it. I mean, I’m totally clear on how I feel about you and I hope you can say the same. About ME, I mean, of course. And I just think it’s time to, you know. Reconnect and stuff. To see each other again. Only each other again. I know I want that and I hope you want that, too.” Patrick looked up expectantly and saw three completely underwhelmed faces.

“Oh, christ.” Andrew sighed.

Patrick frowned, a little deflated. He’d been working on that speech for two days. “I thought it was good!”

“Man, it’s not about whether or not it’s good.” Andrew gestured choppily with one hand which said the speech, or Patrick, or a combination, had really irritated him. “It’s that.”

“Tyler’s a dick,” James supplied helpfully.

“He is not!”

Andrew looked at him as if Patrick was speaking a different language. “He’s screwing around on you!”

“We’re seeing other people!”

“Who are you seeing, bro? Who HAVE you seen?” Andrew demanded from where they all sat on his back yard steps enjoying the morning breeze. “Like, ever?”

“Fuck you all, I’ve dated!” Patrick defended. “I went out with those three guys and that girl.”

“Wasn’t the girl a dude?” James asked.

“She’s transitioning, so you use the gender they’re going to be. It’s a thing. Heather explained it. She’s a good person, okay.”

“I thought it was real brave of her,” Leddy spoke up loyally. Patrick loved Leddy, legit loved him.

“See, this is what I mean,” Andrew pointed. “You didn’t even get pissed off she lied to you in the first place, come on. And I don’t know even know why you need a speech when you finally have a real date.”

“I don’t have a date! What?”

“Jay said the guy with the ass was taking you to watch Hawks training.”

“ He’s not. It’s not. I’m meeting him there!” Patrick sputtered, hating the way his ears had begun to burn. Fucking James and his big mouth. And his delusions of grandeur.

“You paying?” Nick asked.

“No, but…”

“Anyone else going with?”

“I don’t….think so, but…”

“Date,” Andrew said curtly.

“SCORE.” James pumped his fist.

“Look, that guy’s just a control freak or something. I said yes to shut him up.”

“Yeah, ‘cause a free date to the Hawks training camp with a rich hottie. Your sacrifice is EPIC, man.”

“Get out,” Patrick muttered, rubbing his neck.

It’s not like he didn’t appreciate his bros thinking Jonathan Toews and his gourmet tastes and his crazy focused eyes had any designs on him. Bless them and all. And, sure, maybe they had kind of had a moment last night; like, 30% of a moment. But he’d met people like Toews. Win at all costs, had to have the last word, I’m always right people.

Patrick was sure he was probably just another one of those things.

 0o0o0o0o0o0o

As he knocked on the door of Tyler’s apartment Jonathan Toews was the last thing on his mind. He wiped his hands on his jeans and he wished he’d had time to change into his nice shirt and real shoes for _Tyler_  but getting to his not!date was going to be close as it was.

No one answered, so he tried again, harder, and the door finally swung open.

“Hey,” he tried his best smile and Tyler returned it without enthusiasm, which Patrick elected to ignore. Tyler had cut his hair since last time they’d met and it looked good, shorter with an effortless ruffle at the top. He wore a tank top and jeans that hung low on his hips and his dark eyes kept wandering away from Patrick’s even as he stepped back to let Patrick in.

“Hey, Patty. I thought you were gonna call before coming over. Remember we had that whole discussion about boundaries?”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s the anniversary of when we decided to see other people and…”

His start to his carefully crafted speech derailed when a random guy walked out of the small kitchen holding a colander.

Except it wasn’t some random guy; it was a co-worker of Tyler’s who had been sniffing around him forever and Patrick felt his face heat. The guy, whose name was Steve, or Brad, or something like that, had obviously bleached hair that fell over one eye and looked so all-over tan Patrick knew it had to be a fake bake. He wore a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and _capri pants what._

The guy stopped when he saw Patrick then tried a tentative smile.

“Oh, hey. Ty didn’t say we’d have company.”

“Guess not.” Patrick managed, already steamed at the familiar Ty and the use of ‘we.’

“Would you like some spaghetti? It’s wheat, so you know, better on carbs. There’s plenty?”

“No,” Patrick snapped, and the guy nodded, not put out at all.

“Cool. Cool. I’ll just. Give you both some space,” He retreated back in the kitchen like the entire place wasn’t the size of an outhouse and everyone could hear everything anyway.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Patty,” Tyler said.

“Are you...are you with him? _Him_?"

He knew the him in question could probably hear and he didn’t give one shit right now.

“He’s a consultant.” Tyler said, crossing his arms.

“He teaches zumba at the YMCA!”

“That’s contract work. Full time,” he added, implying Patrick hadn’t been looking for full time work since forever, like Patrick’s hours weren’t just shy of it. “Todd is a personal trainer. He's helping me get serious about modeling. I mean, you’ve worked at the store with your cousin for over two years, you’re not even management. I need someone who’s serious about more than watching hockey and drinking with their friends when they get paid. What are you serious about, Patty?" the words weren’t, new, the discussion wasn’t new, but the person waiting in the wings was really fucking new.

"I was serious about you," Patrick said quietly, "“You said a year, you promised we’d talk after a year....” He hated how he sounded but the point had to be made. They’d even hooked up a few times so it’s not like they weren’t...

“We haven’t been together in a long time.”

No, they’d...but when he thought back he realized Tyler wasn’t just being shitty; it had been months and months, and then Patrick had just shown up with DVDs and Taco Bell and blown him on the couch when Tyler texted he’d had a really long, bad day at work.

They used to text all the time but lately it had mostly been Patrick with the chatty texts and Tyler sending one word answers.

“Patty, I love, you, okay?”

“I love you _too_.” he swallowed how wavery his voice sounded on the last word.

“But as a friend.” Tyler pushed on firmly, “I think this is best and ...”

“I’ve gotta go.” He could not stand here anymore and have Tyler say one more asinine cliche. They were a sentence from, 'It’s not me it’s you’ and ‘ someday we'll laugh about this’ and if either of those things came out of Tyler's mouth Patrick was going to set the world on fire with his MIND. Starting with fucking TODD in the KITCHEN.

“Wait.” Patrick turned, stupid, stubborn hope flaring for a second but Tyler only held out something on his palm and Patrick saw his high school ring on the silver chain he’d gotten Tyler for his birthday the second year they’d been together. “I shouldn’t have this.”

Patrick snatched it and fled, pitifully happy the tears that he could never, never control didn’t start until he’d slammed the car door shut behind him.

0o0o0o0o0

He didn’t cry for long. He’d been like that all his life, emotions right below the surface. He blamed growing up with three sisters and his mom, with his dad and himself the only really outnumbered guys in a house full of smart, assertive, beautiful women. Sometimes he really, really hated it, though.

And now he had to get himself together and go meet Jonathan fucking Toews for their non!date. He just wanted to go home and crawl in bed until four. Maybe call in.

Except Patrick never called in. He clocked in thirty-nine hours, just below full time, so no benefits, but he needed each one to afford rent and utilities with some family dinners thrown in when he ran low.

Tyler didn’t deserve pining. Fuck him and his bleached blond fake bake boyfriend.

Taking a deep breath he put the car in gear and headed towards The United Center.

JON

He glanced at his watch for the fifth time and told himself if it reached fifteen after he’d pack it in and accept that Patrick Kane had stood him up.

Which had not happened to him since...ever. It had never happened to him.

Of course maybe they were missing each other. Maybe Patrick didn’t realize the entrance with all the people was the main entrance. Jon had his ticket but he hadn’t even been able to call and confirm because, of course, he didn’t have a phone number. Calling Bockwinkel’s for his number seemed overreaching, even for him. However, he was seriously re-thinking that since it was now almost twenty after…

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Jon turned to see Patrick Kane standing there wearing a Hawks jersey twelve sizes too big that fell to his knees and covered his hands up to the tips of his fingers. His cap was pulled low, blond curls everywhere, and his face looked a little splotchy. At least what Jon could see under the cap.

“Didn’t think you were showing.”

“I don’t do that. It’s a punk move.”

“Good,” Jon said. He’d begun to smile but pulled it back as he studied the downcast eyes and subdued line of Patrick’s lips. He’d known he’d kind of pushed this outing but felt sure he could make it work once Patrick showed up. Patrick looked upset, though, almost angry, and his (really enormous, jesus) blue eyes looked bloodshot and too shiny. It just felt so wrong on his face.

Or something.

“Are you...okay? I mean, we don’t have to…”

“No,” Jon’s stomach sank in disappointment, “I mean, yeah, It’s good I just. Personal shit, won’t bore you with it.”

Now Jon was intensely interested and what was even UP with him. He’d just met this person.

“I’m good. We doing this? You owe me popcorn.” They began walking in after the last few late stragglers.

“You were late! I think you owe _me_ popcorn.”

Patrick smiled finally, a wide grin, dimples flashing as he rolled his eyes, and something turned over in Jon’s chest, slow, just waking. He stared at Patrick’s profile as Patrick shook his head

“Maybe. "

I think the word you mean is 'definitely.'

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

"I will."

Patrick tossed his head, lips still curved and Jon almost put his hand on his lower back as they got to the stairs, then didn't. For some reason Patrick Kane brought out all kinds of odd impulses he had to quash, all in the last five minutes. Like the back thing. Like the still prevalent feeling something had occurred before Patrick got here and the inappropriate urge, at this juncture, to ask more about it. Like the disturbingly protective urge to feed him a big meal because he looked even younger in the huge jersey, cap low over his eyes so Jon wanted to take it off and watch the expressive blue eyes while they spoke.

Jon made himself say something so he wouldn't do any of those things. "So, uh, you played as a kid?"

"Yeah, yeah, stopped in high school. You?"

"College."

He followed Jon down the stadium steps to the seats right behind the glass. Patrick looked around. "Are you serious, man? These are amazing! How'd you get these?"

"Robbed a small child." Jon deadpanned. Patrick glanced at him then laughed, dimples flashing in a really unfair way.

"Wow, okay. You do have a sense of humor. I didn't know."

"My sense of humor is excellent."

"You should wait for other people to tell you that."

"Why?"

Patrick shrugged,"That's what my sisters say." the affection in his voice sounded so complete Jon could tell how much he cared about them without another word. He didn't think he sounded like that when he spoke about David.

They settled in their seats as the lights dimmed and for the next few hours they applauded for the team, met the rookies, and settled in to watch the scrimmage. Jon waved down a popcorn vendor and bought a bag over Patrick's protests.

"I was kidding! You got the tickets..."

"You'll get it next time" he didn't say whether 'next time' meant today or another outing but the perceptive blue eyes held his and Jon looked back, unable to break the connection until two players boarded loudly in front of them. They turned towards the rink and a player grinned at Jon through the barrier, head back in greeting.

"Hey Jonny!"

Patrick turned to him in surprise. "You know the players?"

"Uh, a little. A few. I grew up with him in Winnipeg. "

Thankfully a rookie scored off the Hawks veteran goalie just then and Patrick's attention flew back to the rink along with the rest of the cheering audience. By the time Jon decided to add to his answer the moment had passed. He thought of bringing it up again and then Patrick offered him some popcorn, lips shiny as he smiled, tongue sneaking out to lick at them.

Jon waved his arm to flag down the pop vendor.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

By the time the coach thanked everyone for their support and said he'd see them at the first game Patrick had lost the troubled cast to his eyes, had consumed two hot dogs, a huge soda, and popcorn that Jon bought over his protestations, all against his better judgment since none of it was healthy. He’d also proceeded to simultaneously crack Jon up and irk him with some of the ridiculous declarations he subscribed to, most of them revolving around the superiority of America to Canada, Canadian vs, American hockey franchises and, randomly, whether or not the Twilight book series constituted actual literature.

".....amazing story, come on! Millions of teenage girls can’t  
can’t be wrong."

"If anyone can be wrong it's millions of teenage girls. Look at Justin Bieber."

Patrick clutched his chest, mock staggering. "Hating on the Bieb! Isn't he Canadian?"

"We don't claim him."

"Man you can't just disclaim an embarrassing celebrity like that. If we own up to all the Kardashians you can keep that skinny fucker and all his lousy music."

"His music is lousy yet Twilight is the height of literature?"

"Duh."

Jon shook his head at the travesty and because he was almost sure Patrick was kidding. Please let him be kidding.

They'd reached Jon's black Mercedes in the parking lot and Jon noted thankfully that Patrick hadn't made a run for his own car or anything. "Want to get some lunch?"

Patrick gave him dubious glance,"I just had all that food in there! I'm not hungry."

Oh. Yes, that was probably true, Jon thought in disappointment.

"You know I'm not broke or anything. I can feed myself." Patrick averted his eyes, teeth tugging at his lips because he was trying to implode all of Jon's concentration.

"Eh, just look a little skinny there."

"Fuck you I'm not skinny!" Patrick exclaimed as they walked around to the driver's side,"Just 'cause I don't have your muscles all over the place, okay, I'm secure in my masculinity."

Jon watched him until their eyes met. "My muscles?"

He flushed, color high on the planes of his face. "You know you're built, quit fishing. Like they're not right there when you come in the store, man, could you WEAR less? I'm just saying..." His ears were really red and Jon wanted to touch the shell of them to check the warmth. He watched Patrick scratch the back of his neck and squirm and realized he'd been staring. Again.

"When's your next day off?"

"Wednesday."

"Want to get dinner?"

Patrick smiled slow, dimpling, and Jon heard a faint alarm somewhere south of his brain that said he might really be in trouble, here.

"You still trying to feed me?"

"No."

Patrick searched his face for a second and must have been satisfied because he nodded. "Okay. I'm buying."

"You are getting dessert and the tip."

"Wow, you are like this ALL THE TIME aren't you?"

Jon paused at the door in apprehension but Patrick just shook his head looking amused and so Jon didn't dignify the observation with a response.

As he reached for the handle, though, Patrick grasped his wrist with a tentative. "Hey." The touch startled Jon, felt warm and too intimate as he stared into blue, blue eyes, open with sincerity.

"I had a really shitty morning today" He caught the corner of his lip, "Thanks for this it. It made today awesome."

"The day's not over." Jon pointed out and Patrick shrugged, lips curving.

" Bockwinkel's, man. My life rules."

Jon took his phone out of his pocket, “What’s your number?”

Patrick rattled it off and Jon added it, immediately texting so Patrick could have his.

Jon could live with that for now.

“Six okay for dinner?”

“Six thirty. I work until five-thirty, so.”

“See you then.”

Patrick held his eyes for a few seconds then nodded once. "Take it easy." he said before walking to a faded gray Ford Focus.

Jon surreptitiously watched him go while fiddling with his phone when a text came through.

**A little bird told me you had a date! How'd it go?**

Christ, Sharpy was the worst. **You weren't even here you freak**

**I have eyes everywhere. How's Patrick Kane?**

**Good**

**Don’t fuck it up. I like him**

Whatever. As if Jon went out of his way to fuck things up with people. It wasn’t his fault he’d been incompatible with everyone since he broke up with his last boyfriend. He’d probably begun to date too soon, honestly, but it had seemed like the thing to do rather than mope. Wallowing was not a good look for him.

He didn’t allow himself to look too closely at Patrick Kane and what compelled him to muscle through all the wiseass posing and snarky defenses. He just knew he hadn’t been interested in someone like this, this fast, in a long time. He planned to proceed with cautious optimism and trust what felt right. That was pretty much anathema to who he was as a person but his instincts told him Patrick Kane’s open blue eyes were maybe worth it.

 

PATRICK

“So? Spill it! Gimme the dirt, the 411, the low-down! Did he make a move? Did you? Did you feel his ass?”

“How many Red Bulls have you had?” Patrick asked, shifting around James with an armful of processed meat.

“Four. Come on, don’t be lame! How’d it go?” James was practically vibrating with curiosity and Patrick shook his head but couldn’t help smiling. His cousin was like the biggest hyperactive puppy in the world.

“Okay. What, it went okay!” he said when James made a scoffing sound and added a gimme-more motion. “I met him after I talked to Tyler. He bought me junk food and then he asked me to dinner and practically _told_ me who was paying for what.”

“Back up. You talked to Tyler after all?” James’ exciting wiggling stopped and Patrick became very interested in tomorrow’s sale signs. “I thought you weren’t doing that!”

“I never said I wasn’t doing that.” Patrick muttered, making neat rows of signage clips in order of size. James folded his arms and said nothing which told Patrick more about how much his cousin hated his ex than anything he might have said. “Didn’t matter anyway. He had some guy there. Said they were together.”

“Dude. No.” James breathed in disbelief, “Dick!”

Patrick glared hard at his notes and started matching sales to clips.

“Hey, fuck him! His loss! Epic Ass is so much hotter, am I right?”

“His name’s Jon. Jonathan.” Patrick supplied.

“And you got another date, right?”

“I guess?” Patrick hazarded and James threw up his hands.

“You ‘guess’,” he repeated, “Why are you guessing? There’s no guessing. He asked you out, like, before the first date was even over! He wants you, dude! He totally wants the Kane ass!”

Patrick shushed him as a couple of corporate guys glanced over, then shoved the sales piles in James’ direction. They had to chop up some celery for the chicken sausage gumbo but James with a sharp weapon was just asking for trouble.

“Man, try to go five minutes without saying the word ‘ass’. Seriously.”

James just giggled at him, floppy hair sticking out of the hateful hair net. James’ beanie hung from his pants pocket. If Quennville saw him he’d bust an artery.

“Wait’ll Tyler gets a load of your new hookup. He’s gonna shit!”

Patrick started to dice the celery and didn’t answer because he’d tried to tell himself the same thing. That for once Patrick had play, that Tyler would shit at Jonathan Toews’ black Mercedes and expensive tastes and that for some reason Jonathan Toews was into Patrick. Except for how it made no damn _sense_ , when Jon could get practically anyone even with the crazy eyes, control issues, and tragic Canadianess.

“For real, bro, you know he’s into you, right? It’s, like, way obvious!”

“He’s probably just being nice.”

“You don’t ask for a second date just to be nice, man!”

But some people did, Patrick knew. He did, sometimes. He always had, except Jonathan Toews wasn’t like him. He didn’t look like he’d do a second date because he didn’t want to hurt someone's feelings. Which left...Patrick couldn’t even with what was left.

He figured if he just acted like this weird, totally insensible thing could end at any minute he wouldn’t be crushed if it did. That was his plan and he was sticking to it. Nothing to see. Just dinner. No big deal.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Except for how it kind of was to apparently everyone else.

He walked out of his room self-consciously folding up the sleeves of his button down. After realizing he had no idea where dinner would be, he poked around in his closet too long for the stuff that he actually had in there: jeans, jeans, jeans, jeans, a few button downs, jeans, his one pair of real pants, jeans. A few button down shirts and six Hawks jerseys collected every birthday and Christmas for years. He’d opted for his newest pair of jeans, real shoes, and a button down; basically what he’d worn to the Planetarium but without the hoodie.

Andrew looked up from where he sat watching a rerun of Family Guy and gave Patrick a once over.

“What?”

Andrew then took out his phone, took a picture, and commenced to type. Patrick made a face and walked back in his room, “I hate you all.”

And they were ALL at his apartment. He could hear Leddy and James poking around in his kitchen eating his food and Andrew had made himself comfortable on his couch. All three of them had shown up on Wednesday and didn’t even front like it wasn’t just to meet Jon. Nothing he did could make them leave and he hoped Jon wouldn’t hold his snoopy ass friends against him.

As he stood in front of his closet his eldest sister Erica’s text music chimed up and he fished his phone from his pocket.

 **do you have a jacket?**  She’d texted. Patrick frowned.

 **it’s not that cold**  He texted back and got **:-(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((**  which he didn’t even understand.

**a SUIT JACKET Pat! And your black pants**

He banged his head against the closet door in frustration.

**No! it’s just dinner. look like im trying too hard**

**james said he wears suits**

**so?**  

But his sister’s insistence was getting to him and he dug out his only pair of black pants from the back of the closet and looked at them. He had them for the few times he went to a wedding or something and he’d worn them to a funeral once. They made him feel like he worked in a funeral home, too.

‘not your white shirt,’ his phone buzzed and, okay, that was just ridiculous because white went with everything; it was CLASSIC, or something. He knew that much.

‘I’ve GOT this!’ he sent back and refused to look at it any more, ignoring it then turning the thing off.

He did switch out his jeans for the black slacks which did fit him and which he did manage to iron without burning. After looking for the iron for twenty minutes. At the last minute, he did pull out his suit jacket which had actually been a hand-me-down from an older cousin, and added his slim black tie.

There, that should satisfy all the critics.

He walked back in the living smoothing down his hair which had its own, impossible issues, whatever, and all three of his friends looked up from where they sat on the couch.

“Who died?” Andrew asked

“Fuck you.” Patrick said and then the doorbell rang and he pointed at all three of them in warning, giving them his most severe ‘YOU BEHAVE’ look. James gave him a thumbs up, Leddy put out a fist for a fist bump, expression encouraging, and Andrew burped. James fist bumped Leddy and Patrick sighed and shook his head before heading for the door. He should have totally tried harder to get rid of them.

Jon stood at the door. He wasn’t wearing a suit but he was wearing deep brown slacks, a tweed jacket and pale yellow shirt with dark blue tie. It worked on him. Everything worked on him, how was that fair.

Jon’s eyes took Patrick in for a second before looking up with an an unreadable, focused stare that made Patricks stomach flip stupidly. ‘Focused’’ was Jonathan Toews default, that was all. He probably practiced in front of a mirror in his spare time. .

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Patrick remembered the audience on the couch.

“Hey, uh...” He scratched his neck where the curls always seemed to itch when he got nervous, then made himself stop. “Uhm, these are…” when he turned all three of them stood there like a damned receiving line or something and Patrick glared, “My best friends.”

“I know you,” Jonny said holding out his hand to James and James grinned, grabbing Jon’s hand in a broad gesture..

“Yeah you do! I’m memorable! James. I’m his cousin. I got the good genes.”

“Bullshit,” Andrew coughed into his hand and James gave him a whap in protest, which Andrew blocked, snickering. Patrick sighed to himself because they really were nine.

“Andrew Shaw.” Jon shook his hand, too, like this was some kind of interview for Patrick’s dorky friends.

“Nick Leddy.” Leddy smiled and politely shook Jon’s hand like the nice guy he was, thank god.

Before Patrick could herd Jonny towards the door Andrew asked, “Where you going tonight?”

“Uh, dinner. Steak place I like a lot on The Loop.” Jonny didn’t seem to mind answering at all.

“Woo! Told you he was classy, Pat!” James exclaimed, delighted, “His ex barely sprang for McDonalds, for real-ow!” He jumped as Leddy elbowed his stomach, face completely neutral.

“Time to go!” Patrick pulled Jon out the door by the elbow and slammed it on Leddy saying, “That went well.”

Jon didn’t say much as they walked out to the Mercedes Patrick remembered from the parking garage and Patrick slid on the plush leather seats and took the opportunity, while Jon circled the car, to rub his temple. Then he started looking at the car and had the worst Julia Roberts deja vu feeling come over him because, wow, this thing cost more than his yearly salary.

They made it to the first light, some low music on the radio that Patrick was starting to distressingly suspect was country when Jon said, ‘I like your friends.” eyes still calmly on the road.

“Even James?” Patrick smiled out at the passing lights, then grabbed the ‘shit handle’ when Jon slammed on the break at a stop sign.

“Dude!”

“Sorry,” Jon replied, voice distracted, then, “Yeah, him, too. You both seem close.”

“Grew up with him,” Patrick said, “I’ve got three sisters, so he’s like my brother.”

“He’s a lot like my brother,” Jon admitted, speeding through a yellow light and glanced over to where Patrick still had a white knuckled grip on the door. “You okay there?”

“Peachy,” Patrick gritted. “Are we late or something?”

“No?” Jon knit his brows, “Just don’t like wasting time.”

“Are you for…” Patrick pressed his lips together as Jon tailgated the car in front of them and the driver flipped them off when Jon drove around.

“That was rude,” Jon observed mildly and Patrick gawped at him then pressed his foot down on the floor of the car when Jon nearly ran up someone else’s ass. Patrick hadn’t done that since teaching Jessica how to drive stick.

“Seriously , man, I’m not that hungry.”

“I thought you just got off work.”Jon glanced over and sped up again. Christ.

“I mean you don’t have to speed.”

“Just cause I don’t drive like an old woman.”

Patrick thought of pointing out how his grandmother was an old woman and she had a worse lead foot than Jonny.

“Do _you_ drive like an old woman?” Jon asked and where did he get off smiling indulgently like it was normal to miss a car’s bumper by inches.

“Are you, like, reading the speedometer in the metric system or something? Because it’s different here.”

“There are definitely worse drivers here.”

“Oh, no you didn’t!” Patrick exclaimed, offended on behalf of all American drivers everywhere.

“I just did.” Jon confirmed, switching lanes between two cars and shaving years off Patrick’s life.

Patrick basically pressed his foot into the floorboard the entire drive.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

By the time Jon pulled in front of a sleek building with a circular driveway Patrick had aged ten years and had been telling Jon so for at least five of them.

“Maybe you just drive slower than most people.” Jon said and Patrick scoffed as he opened the car door, almost stepping on the feet of a valet who materialized at his side.

“Good evening, Sir.” the kid in the red jacket said and Patrick almost looked over his shoulder before realizing the smiling boy was talking to _him_.

“Oh, uh, hi.”

The door was closed behind him and he walked around the car to see Jon hand his keys to another boy in a red jacket and tie. They walked in the restaurant, where the bar area could fit Patrick’s entire apartment, and where the maitre’d greeted Jon by name and asked if he wanted his ‘usual table.’

“That would be great, Ronnie, thanks.”

“Come here a lot?” he muttered as they followed a waiter (host?) to a booth near the back which had black leather seats and a shiny black table. The place had leather and sterling everywhere with bright purple lights illuminating the high ceiling above of the bar. Two enormous flat screens took up most of two walls.

“About once a week,” Jon shrugged, sliding next to Patrick on the L shaped seats.

“Would you gentlemen like anything from the bar?”

Patrick really needed a drink if he was going to continue to get Pretty Womaned on this scale, but the thought of how much they’d be scared him a little, “Just a Coke, thanks.”

“Evian. Not too much ice,” Jon ordered.

“Right away. Your waiter will be with you soon.” So, a host then. Patrick guessed. The last place he’d eaten with menus was Olive Garden on a family outing. He made a mental note to hug his sister and possibly Leddy for talking him out of wearing jeans.

The waiter showed up with two menus and their drinks seconds later. Patrick looked at the prices and took a swallow of soda pretending it was booze. He was getting SO Pretty Womaned he wondered if he should throw a snail in the air on general principle.

“Is anything wrong?” Patrick realized he’d basically been hiding behind the tall menu listing every steak known to man for too long.

“No, fine. I’m fine,” Patrick cleared his throat and drank more pop. “This is a nice place.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite,” Jon’s smiled warmly, “There’s only two others: one in Las Vegas and one in Winnipeg, where my family’s from. We eat there whenever I visit them.”

Oh. So maybe Jon hadn’t brought him here to rub all his success in Patrick’s face. He hadn’t realized how committed he’d been to that thought until then and felt kind of bad.

“You’re from here?” Jon asked closing the menu and placing it aside. Patrick guessed if someone came here all the time they’d know it by heart.

“Buffalo. We moved here when I was twelve for my dad’s work.” He gave up trying to find the cheapest thing, which didn’t exist unless he wanted nothing but ceviche and mango chutney or asparagus spears a la carte for dinner. “You’re from Manitoba.” Jon raised his eyebrows. “You told James. When you tried to get him fired.”

Jon nodded curtly and took a drink of his Evian but was that a small blush on his ears? Patrick abruptly gave him a cheesy grin to show he hadn’t been serious. Jon looked at Patrick over the rim of his glass and slanted a smile back.

“Yeah. Started there but most of the business is stateside; kept flying in and decided to relocate. It’s worked out, so far.”

“What’s the business?” Patrick asked glancing up as a waiter put down a basket of bread still steaming from the oven and butter in little metal bowls.

“Thank you,” Jon nodded before answering.

“Event planning, mostly sports related, but not totally. Some corporate stuff.”

Patrick had no idea what ‘corporate stuff’ meant but it sounded really grown up. Patrick could barely balance his checkbook.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Fuck you.” Patrick said because that made Jon only two years older than him. He thought from the car and the suits that Jon would be at least thirty and was just really fit. Wow, he felt like a slacker.

“Thank you?” Jon answered quizzically, then, “Did you always want to be in….deli work?”

“For sure. Unless I’m slicing processed meat it’s just not living.” Patrick said, going for lighthearted joking and hopefully reaching it. Jon kept looking at him as if there were more, and yeah, there was more, and Patrick hadn’t planned to share, but Jon just kept holding his eyes and Patrick glanced down at the table, fiddling with his cloth napkin.

“I have my associates degree but just got it a couple of years ago. My dad got sick my senior year of high school; heart problems. He’s okay now, but I quit hockey to work, help out. My mom was already working full time to keep health insurance, my sisters were just babies. Getting back in the school mind set was kinda hard.” Patrick shrugged and sipped his Coke some more.

Jon kept staring at him intently, doing the unblinking thing, and when the waiter showed up to take their order Patrick turned to him in relief.

Jonny ordered the sirloin steak, a salad with ‘no dressing,’ and a vegetable skewer. Patrick was going to just order the same thing to be safe but he could not hang with that much rabbit food. He chose the t-bone with a baked potato and green  
. Jonny hadn’t touched the bread, either, and Patrick had taken two rolls, sinfully soft and warm.

“So your father is better now?” Jonny asked as soon as the waiter left. Apparently they were not done talking about this.

“Yeah, he’s good. We gotta keep an eye out, you know, watch his diet, go to checkups. What about you? Why’d you stop playing?”

“Concussion.” Jon took a sip of water. “Sophomore year of college.”

“Wow.”

“Twice.”

“Shit!” Patrick knew all about concussions; they read you that riot act from peewees, practically. How you had to be honest if you had symptoms and not hide it, how to check with your body instead of your helmet, why fighting and removing your helmet was dangerous.

Jon nodded by way of answering. “Last one took me a month to recover. For a while I had trouble remembering what day it was. I decided not to continue.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said quietly, as if someone died, but it felt like that. Hockey got in your blood, in your soul. When he’d decided to quit his coach tried for an hour to talk him out of it. Patrick told himself that it was probably for the best; he’d never be the biggest one on the line, or the tallest, but he knew he’d been good. No one out hustled him.

That night he’d cried silently in the shower, on his own. He didn’t want his mom to see because she’d tell him not to do it, and he’d had to.

“I got over it. Took awhile, “Jon admitted, wincing in a way that made Pat wonder if he was even aware of the gesture. “I was already majoring in business but got serious about it and hooked up with Sharpy right before I got my MBA.”

“Cool,” Patrick said, trying to sound casual and mature, as guys did, and not like he was kind of overwhelmed at all that Jonny accomplished while Patrick’s biggest worry was how many more days he could go before really needing to do laundry.

“Gotta be hard, though. Sometimes. Being around the game, you know. And not playing.”

“Not anymore.” Jonny gave him a kind of sad smile and a bloom of feeling sprouted in his chest, sudden and confusing.

The waiter showed up with their food, including Jonny’s salad, which was tossed in front of them on a little table with silver tongs. Patrick’s baked potato had a whole tray of condiment possibilities, and they brought more of those sinful rolls.

By the time the entree was finished Patrick had learned Jon had no sisters, just his younger brother David  
Patrick and James had met at the museum. Considering that Jon had pretty much over-excelled at everything he’d done, ever, Patrick wasn’t surprised David was such a goofball. Competing would have been ridiculous. While Jon’s folks weren’t crazy about both of their sons moving away at the same time they liked that Jon  
family nearby for David to go to while he went to college.

“He’s in college?” Patrick asked, just because the kid he met didn’t really strike him as a student. Not even a slacker student; at least not college. Pat thought he was in high school. Jon gave another one of those unconscious winces.

“Supposed to be. He was almost put on academic probation last year and I don’t know about this year.”

“What’s he studying?”

“He doesn’t know. When I ask him he says, ‘Nooky and hooky’. I mean, what is that?”

Patrick laughed then tried not to when he saw the look on Jon’s face. “I’m sorry, man, but maybe he’s just figuring it out.”

“I guess.” Jon’s voice said, ‘absolutely not’ but Patrick let it go. Jon would learn soon enough that you couldn’t force someone into what you wanted for them. Patrick would know.

Then Jon made the mistake of asking about Patrick’s sisters and he ended up talking all through their meal because if you couldn’t brag on your beautiful smart siblings, who could you brag on. Erica had made the dean’s list every year she’d been in school and was looking at Ivy league MBA programs, Jessica was head of her sorority and Jackie ended up the athlete, being on the college swim team and pitcher for her slow-pitch softball team, all in her freshman year.

“Really?” Jonny blinked and Pat beamed.

“Right? I go to all her games and meets. She’s amazing.” Pat stopped talking and glanced up as one of the waiters materialized at their table. They really needed to put bells on them or something.

“Are you done, sir?” Patrick looked down at his empty plate and hastily moved back so it could be picked up. Jonny had already pushed his plate away and nodded for his water glass to be refilled.

“Would you gentlemen like dessert tonight?”

“No, thank you.” Jonny said. The waiter bowed and turned away.

“Yeah,” Patrick contradicted in puzzlement. The waiter took a step back, “It’s on me, right?”

“It’s okay...” The waiter leaned back.

“Except for how it’s _not_ ,” The waiter looked like he was doing the two-step,”You eat like you still play.”

“Old habits. You know.”

“Not really,” Patrick said.

“Honestly, I don’t really eat sweets”

“Look, I can handle dessert,” Patrick finally said in a low, slow voice. The waiter cleared his throat and placed the dessert menu on the table.

“Let us know when you’ve decided. If..you’ve decided. Thank you,” the poor kid almost fled.

“I’ll be right back. Order some fucking dessert.” Patrick stood and made his way past the now full tables to the back where he’d cased the men’s room sign.

0o0o0o0o0o

The bathroom looked just as sleek, rich, and pristine as everything else, all marble floors, sterling fixtures, and stalls that actually had floor to ceiling doors on them. A huge green plant sat at the sinks and and the mirrors had gilded frames.

After he was done Patrick stood at the mirror and looked at himself. His hair looked stupid, flyaway curls everywhere and and he probably should have ironed his shirt better. Or, at all. He should have listened to Erica. He concentrated on not looking angry at the whole dessert thing because what the hell? Did Jon really think he’d show up and forget what they talked about? Still, until then he’d actually forgotten Jon could be a dick; mostly because it was impossible not to feel for the guy when he’d lost hockey like Patrick had, and had gotten close enough to see the promised land. Patrick had no doubt if Jon hadn’t gotten hurt Patrick would be watching him on television as part of a franchise; probably original six.

An elderly man finished washing his hands at the sink and looked around a little. Patrick got a paper towel from the wicker basket at one end of the row of sinks and handed him one.

“Thank you, young man.” Patrick smiled; all old people reminded him of his grandparents.

Then the old man handed him a five dollar bill, patted his shoulder, and walked out.

Patrick looked at the money for a second, at a loss. While he did this one of the waiters walked in and paused, looking at Patrick look at the bill in his hands. He caught sight of them in the mirror and saw two guys standing there in black suit jackets, ties, and black pants. Only he had his mouth open in realization like a fucking trout, though.

Patrick shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, probably making it worse.

“Do you need something, sir?”

“Queer eye for the queer guy.” Patrick muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing I’m…good. Here.” he put the five dollars in the kid’s pocket and walked out to his puzzled,

“Thank...you?”

“Don’t mention it.”

Maybe he didn’t notice, maybe it got right by him, he thought desperately as he made his way back to the table.

That’s when he saw a muscled guy with what looked like highlighted blond hair sitting in his seat.

 

JON

How he could be so into someone who’d worn the worst suit jacket Jon had seen in his entire life continued to baffle Jon, but into him he was. That much became pretty clear when Patrick became defensive about the whole dessert thing and Jon felt instantly awful. Even if Jon really _didn’t_ eat dessert unless it was a holiday or he’d just broken up with someone. Like most of his decisions with Patrick Kane, it had seemed like a good idea at the time and then it blew up in his…

“Jonny?” a delighted, questioning voice sounded and he looked up to see his ex-boyfriend grinning at him.

“TJ. Hey,” he blinked, standing to receive a warm hug, pulling away first.

TJ’s familiar blue eyes took him in and he clapped his face in greeting. He’d bulked up, biceps pushing against the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. His hair had another streak in it and needed a trim. The last time Jon had seen him he’d been returning the keys to their apartment in Manitoba, both of them standing there like strangers while movers carted out boxes full of their life together.

“Damn, you look good. You always loved this place.”

“Yeah, you know. Habit, uh. I was...gonna call…”

TJ waved him off, “I know how you are with work. I’d have tracked you down. Got a place at the Waterford.” He slipped easily into the empty chair before Jon could react.

“Nice place. I’m actually…”

“Oh, good.” TJ nodded to Jon’s left, saying, “I’ll have a Sam Adams dark and he’ll have another Evian with lemon.”

Jon turned and rose at the sight of Patrick standing very still and staring at TJ.

“Patrick Kane. TJ Oshie. I’m here with Patrick.”

“....Oh,” TJ said at length, then laughed. “Oh! Sorry, man, honest mistake! Great to meet you.” He stood and offered Patrick his hand. Patrick took it and TJ pumped it twice in that overly hard way he always had that almost dislocated someone’s shoulder. Jon trained himself out of it when he’d left hockey; both their dads were big on almost-too-strong handshakes to make a statement.

“Hi.” Patrick’s mouth was an apprehensive line as he sat, Jon noted worriedly.

“Just stopped by to say hello to this one; we go way back. Used to date. Right Jonny?”

“A while ago.” Jon qualified, trying to catch Patrick’s eyes but they slid away looking back at TJ who smiled amiably at them. “We grew up together.”

“So you….live here now?” Patrick asked, as Jon sat back down hoping TJ would get the hint and move on before they walked any further down memory lane.

“Yeah, sure do! I was just telling Jon, got here a few months ago when the Hawks picked up my option.”

“You play for the Hawks?” Patrick asked, eyes large and TJ nodded.

“Yeah, by way of the Jets. You a fan? I’ll hook you up.”

“I have season tickets.” Jon said and TJ nodded as if he expected it.

“I guess I’ll see you guys there. Good meeting you, Patrick. You owe me a beer, Toews! Don’t think I won’t track you down. You both have good night.” With another friendly smile he walked away.

They sat there in tense awkwardness for long seconds before a waiter showed up bearing two scoops of gelato in silver cups. Jon waited for him to leave before speaking but Patrick beat him to it.

“Did you know he played for the Hawks?”

“I was aware,” Jon admitted carefully.

“He’s the one that said ‘hi’ to you at training camp.”

“Yeah.”

“You got any other exes hanging around? Did you date an underwear model or, like, a bodybuilder or something? ‘Cause in that case I’m gonna need a lot more gelato.”

“You won’t need more gelato.” Jon spooned up a little before it all melted. It was the least egregious thing he found on the dessert menu.

Patrick took a large spoonful, face determined. He’d almost finished it and Jon became fixated on the small line of chocolate at his bottom lip, like a little kid would have.

“What?” Patrick asked.

“You’ve got chocolate on your face.”

“I’m saving it.” Jon watched him lick at the corner of his mouth, tongue pink. It didn’t get it all. It did leave his lips glistening in the restaurant light. It was fucking pornographic.

“There?”

Jon reached over and ran a thumb across the faint line of chocolate left on Patrick’s mouth, lips soft as velvet beneath his hand. He glanced up, realizing he’d been looking fixedly at Patrick’s mouth for too long.

He abruptly felt warm, breath catching because Patrick held his eyes, wouldn’t look away, and Jon watched the sky blue of robin’s eggs and summer skies widen slightly, then become lidded, thoughtful, dilated.

“Check,” Jon motioned to the waiter and tried not to look at Patrick for too long because his fingers already itched to touch him again.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Jon drove in silence making an effort to be a little more careful. Maybe he had been ribbing him a little earlier running all the yellows just for fun. Patrick still clutched the door handle but at least his fingers  
with fear.

He looked over at the red lights. Patrick gazed out the window, quiet, but had lost the grim apprehension from meeting TJ.

“You’re quiet.” he observed. Patrick grinned. His dimples deepened, Jon noticed helplessly.

“I can be quiet.”

“You’re uncomfortable with TJ.”

Patrick shrugged in that awful suit jacket with the too wide shoulders and lapels. “He’s _your_ ex, man. Not my fault he can’t tell waiters from customers.”

“How ex is your ex?” Jon had actually been stewing and wondering this since he picked Patrick up but, if they were talking about exes, he could contribute, too.

Patrick bit his bottom lip, squinting at the passing lights out the window. “Not too ex.”

It took all he had not to pursue it. He really didn’t want to talk about their exes at all. Which was different, apparently, than wanting to KNOW about Patrick’s ex.

“Can I ask you something?” And maybe they weren’t done.

“Sure.” Jon said evenly, eyes on the road.

“What the hell were you buying all that food for if you left town for three days?”

Jon looked over at Patrick’s frank curiosity then smiled widely, laughing a little.

“What? It’s a fair question! You bought a metric ton of meat and then you call from an airport. Just thought it was weird.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Jon explained. “Sharpy’s wife is eight months pregnant with their second and he was making sure they had groceries before our trip.”

“I like Sharpy.” Patrick smiled back.

“Everyone likes Sharpy.” Jon said. “He likes you, too.”

“Yeah? He’s got good taste.” Jon rolled his eyes, but smiled, glad to be off the previous subject.

“Did his kid really name you Tazer?”

“Yeah,” Jon admitted, sighing. “She couldn’t pronounce Jonathan or Toews and Jon didn’t stick. Next thing I know I’m Uncle Tazer.”

“That’s awesome.” Patrick grinned, seeming delighted.

“She’s a great kid. Smart and really headstrong, though. He’s gonna have his hands full one day, I keep telling him.”

They pulled up to the front of Patrick’s building still talking so much more easily than he would have ever predicted after the unexpected surprise of meeting TJ at the restaurant.

Jon turned off the car and a little silence took up space, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Patrick leaned his head back and they looked at each other. Or, Jon tried to look at him and not ogle the vulnerable expanse of neck and softly jutting Adam’s apple. Patrick’s lashes looked impossibly long in the low light of the street lamp.

“It was interesting.”

“I can do better.” Jon claimed firmly and Patrick bubbled laughter, a free, happy sound Jon found he wanted to hear more of.

“You mean besides the fancy restaurant better?”

“Yes?” Jon admitted, somewhat puzzled.

“Man, you’re good, okay. Like, trust me.” He tugged at the seat belt, then hunched over trying to find the buckle. The dark blond curls tumbled over his forehead and Jon could smell shampoo and soap and a specific warm scent that must be all Patrick.

He bent over, finding the buckle easily and, when Patrick moved back to give him access, Jon caught his lips on the upswing, a small, polite press to the lushness he’d been coveting all night, and probably longer than that if he was being honest.

Patrick didn’t respond for a second, stilled, and Jon brushed away, meant to back up, when Patrick opened, licked delicately at the scar on Jon’s lip, and Jon made an involuntary soun dof pleasure. He cupped Patrick’s jaw, felt the smoothness there, fingers seeking the secret warmth behind his shirt collar, fingertips traveling on their own along a line of neck where a pulse pushed up under his fingertips, eager and fragile as a bird’s heart. Patrick tasted like chocolate and felt like wet silk in his mouth and Jon thumbed his chin, coaxing him open more, wanting more of his taste.

They parted panting, slow and shallow. Jon nipped along Patrick’s jaw, at his lips until he felt a shiver, watched the long, long lashes flutter and squeeze shut as Patrick clutched at his arms; he felt along up to Patrick’s chest and fisted there as Jon kissed him just once more, his knuckles grazing the plane of Patrick’s clavicle inside his shirt.

 

“Training camp,” Patrick mumbled, eyes still closed as Jon pressed his lips to a curve of jaw. He opened his eyes and Jon saw the blue dilated, a thin ring around the darkness, “Training camp was a date, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jon agreed quietly, amazed his voice didn’t shake with the tremors skittering under his skin, “It was. So was tonight. Next time will be a date, too.”

“Cool,” Patrick said faintly, still staring from half mast eyes as if he couldn’t quite take it in, He snubbed their noses together and Jon had to pull him in again, take his mouth once more and its intoxicating sweetness and rich flavor, thumbs tracing along Patrick’s throat to feel the moan there.

“I...uhm…,” Patrick swallowed and Jon bit at the motion of his Adam’s apple so Patrick gasped laughter, “Shit, oh, I should….go _in_.”

“Yes,” Jon agreed quietly. “You should. Before I don’t let you.”

“Can’t have that,” Patrick smiled, so open and happy Jon felt gut punched with it.

“No. We can’t.” He tried a smile while his blood thrummed and all he wanted was to follow the warm skin inside Patrick’s shirt, and tear off that ugly, awful suit jacket to explore what was underneath. “I’ll call. Or text.”

“Me, too.”

“We’ll figure out next time.”

Patrick nodded, smile still wide and brilliant and oh. Jesus, he was beautiful.

“‘Night.”

Jon stole one more kiss, then another. Patrick finally opened the door and slid out, laughing and flushed.

“I’ll wait ‘till you’re inside,” he called through the window and Patrick rolled his eyes and waved before climbing the steps to the door. He was still smiling when he turned on the light inside, Jon saw. He watched until he became concerned it would cross over into creeper territory and finally drove home.

Luckily he had security and a parking garage because once he closed his door he realized he had no idea if he locked his car or set the alarm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overachieving successful Canadian ex-pat and snarky deli worker collide. Based on the film 'She's Out Of Your League.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many profound thanks to mosgirl9 and dinefor their patient, thoughtful, constructive, and encouraging beta and input and for not running at the sight of my comma fetish. ;-) I could not have two more supportive people cheerleading as I travel through this fic. I adjust and tweak works constantly so any mistakes are mine alone.

By the next morning he had it together. Mostly together.  Almost totally together.

He’d successfully NOT broken his morning routine of waking, having an apple, a protein bar, and some coffee, and arriving at work exactly on time by stopping at Bockwinkel’s to see if Patrick was working. He’d not texted him good night last night because they were not THIRTEEN, for christ’s sake. He had stepped back because to get this over-invested after one date couldn’t be healthy. He had to keep some perspective if he wanted this to occur naturally.

He’d been less successful not wondering what Patrick meant by ‘not too ex’ when he’d asked about his ex-boyfriend. What did that mean? Jon had no intention of being a rebound of any sort. He should have pursued it but he’d been distracted by the damn gelato and TJ and how Patrick looked in the quiet of Jon’s car, illuminated by the street light and, okay, so maybe he had some more work to do on this stepping back plan.

Jon’s phone buzzed and he fished it out to see a text from TJ:

**great to see you last night! dinner tomorrow? my treat. talk to u soon.**

He was trying to formulate a response when his phone buzzed again.

**hey. did you run over any pedestrians on the way home?**

Jon grinned.

**I don’t know what you mean. I drive excellently.**

**LOL.  Denial!**

Wiseass, he thought, still smiling.

**I guess you’ll just have to prove your driving skills next time**

**I guess I will! Anytime anyplace**

**Oh really**

**Really**

Jon wasn’t sure they were talking about driving anymore.  He had totally forgotten about his step-back plan. He was pretty sure he didn’t care.

“Sooooo, dinner was a success?” He looked up to see Sharpy studying him looking way too satisfied for Jon’s own good, “Looks like you didn’t scare him off yet.”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Taze, you dated that CPA a week and you re-organized his DVD collection.”

“Everything was in the wrong box!” What was he supposed to do when the guy took an hour long phone call from his parents? Jon had been restless. It hadn’t been his fault Kegan hid his copy of Saving Ryan’s Privates in a Lion King case. Jon didn’t know why he’d had been so huffy since Jon was the one scarred for life. They hadn’t lasted long.

“Then that lawyer lasted less than a month. I don’t even know what happened there.” Nothing had happened  there; that had been the problem. After almost three weeks of dates whatever spark had drawn them together fizzled like a balloon floating lower and lower to the ground. When Jon finally gave him the friend speech he hadn’t even been upset. Jon would have been insulted except he felt the same way. It had all been kind of a non-event.

“It didn’t work out. What’s your point?”

“Just that he’s not your usual type,” Sharpy shrugged as he took a seat for their weekly meeting about their accounts,”I’m not sure your usual dating strategy is the way to go.”

“My ‘usual type’?” Jon repeated dubiously. He had, in fact, made a conscious effort not to HAVE a usual type since TJ. Sharpy’s observation skills were obviously rusty.  “What type would that be?”

“Snooty.”

Jon rolled his eyes and his phone buzzed again.

**Wanna go bowling tomorrow?**

Crap, he had an afternoon meeting with the  facilitator of a manufacturing company who wanted to set up a team building weekend for his executive board . Jon could tell it was going to last longer than it should because every time they spoke the price fluctuated and the facilitator had another ‘great idea!’

**Can you make it Saturday? I have a work thing.**

**Work Saturday ;-(. Sunday?**

**Done. Where and when?**

**Don’t worry about it. I’ll pick you up @ 11 am. Later! My break’s over**

Sneaky little shit, Jon thought with some affection.

“Do you and your text need a moment? Because I can come back.”

“Shut up.” Jon said, turning off his phone and slipping it in his pocket. “We’re going bowling on Sunday.”

“He’s taking you bowling?” Sharpy smiled slowly. “That is tremendous. Can I watch? ”

“I can bowl.”

“When’s the last time you bowled?”

He’d gone to a bowling party when he was eleven. “A while ago. How hard can it be.”

“I just want to watch your face when you put on the rental shoes.”

Shit, he had forgotten about that. It’s amazing what they put over on little kids who hadn’t realized the finer points of germs and hygiene. He wondered if he had time to buy a pair of those ugly shoes…

Sharpy was shaking his head and chuckling as he turned on his iPad. Jon ignored him.

They’d just begun when into a pause Jon asked, without looking up, “Why do you think they were snooty?”

“Lots of reasons, but mostly, because Maddie didn’t like any of them.”

“You’re basing your judgement of my dates on your three year old daughter?”

“Hell, yes. You wish you had her taste. And she’s three and a half.”

And okay, Maddie hadn´t really taken to any of the other people he´d dated, but, to be fair, he hadn´t brought many of them around. He´d brought TJ around because they´d been together for so long, but Maddie never quite warmed to him.

His phone buzzed again and he retrieved it with a grimace. He didn’t usually get this many this early in the morning and should probably turn it off.

“He’s seems very interested.” Sharpy observed.

“It’s TJ. We ran into him at dinner last night.”  

Sharpy paused organizing proposal specs and glanced at him. “You ‘ran into him’ on your date?”

“He stopped by to say hello. Not the best timing.” Jon admitted with a frown and watched Sharpy lean back and give him a look.

“Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?”

“Taze.” Sharpy said, kind of shook his head a little, “You have zero perspective when it comes to TJ.”

“No, seriously, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Sharpy answered slowly, “He probably went there because he knew you might be there.”

“Did not.” Jon smirked, going back to his Outlook calendar. “It’s a good steak house. He probably looked on Yelp for ‘steakhouses.’”

“Or he planned it.”

“Why would he plan it?” Jon asked in exasperation because, honestly, Sharpy had to be so off base. They had broken up over a year ago. It had been difficult and it had hurt him; there was no point denying that. They’d been together since high school and best friends before that. That had been the hardest: feeling like he not only lost the person he thought he’d grow old with, but the one he’d always gone to when things went to hell. He’d found out the hard way that when you wanted to tell your best friend all your boyfriend troubles and they were the same person, you were pretty much fucked.

But he’d moved on. He knew TJ had moved on. They were still on each other’s Facebook. It’s not like he hadn’t seen what pictures he posted even if there was never an ‘in a relationship’ accompanying them. There didn’t have to be. He’d known TJ long enough to read the signs.

“You think it’s a coincidence he’s in Chicago?”

“I know players don’t get a say on where they get traded.”

“Not directly but you know a lot goes on behind the scenes.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. That’s done.” Jon said with finality and turned back to the proposals. A year ago, hell, maybe six months ago, it would have mattered, but not now. Last night just made it more apparent.

“Okay.” Sharpy said, his voice plainly saying it was absolutely not, but Jon let it lie.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

“So first base but nothing below the waist.” James said as they hung out at  his place. Patrick sighed and wished he hadn’t admitted that much but James wouldn’t STOP and it was giving Patrick a  headache.

“Pat’s not that kind of girl.” Andrew called out and Patrick flipped him off from where he bent over to check the nachos in the oven.

“Yeah, he is.” James contradicted in puzzlement and Patrick glared at him. James backpedaled hastily. “I just mean I thought you put out on the first date with Tyler.” 

Patrick had. “This is  different.”

“Yeah. This one’s rich.” He could hear Andrew waggle  his eyebrows from here.

“Fuck off. He’s not rich. It’s not about that.”

“Word. If he wanted rich he’d be with his ex.” James agreed and Patrick rubbed his face because why did he tell James ANYTHING. He could take out a billboard and save himself the trouble.

“Let me get his.” Andrew forgot about Fast and the Furious on television and walked over to the kitchenette with interest, “His ex is rich? How do you know?”

“They ran into him at dinner. I can’t stop!” James hunched his shoulders in protection while Pat  spread his arms in exasperation. “I mean, come on, this is MAJOR! He’s hot as fuck and he wants you!”

“Give him a break, guys.” Leddy defended because he was a prince among the rest of Patrick’s pain in the ass buddies, “Maybe Pat just needs to process this first.”

“Thank you, secretly-a-chick man.” Andrew knocked Leddy on the head with his beer and Leddy waved it away, cheeks red. “Did you read that in Cosmo?”

“The View.” Leddy corrected defiantly, “They had Jessica Alba on!”

“For real? Did you DVR?” James called from where he’d started scarfing nachos before waiting for the others, the piglet.

“Mike did. I locked it.”

“Did she look hot? She never got fat from having babies.”

“I can’t believe you said that!”

Patrick shook his head, thankful James had the attention span of a squirrel. Now they were going back and forth on whether or not babies had an effect on how hot someone was. He decided not to weigh in.

“How do you know his ex is rich?” Fuck Andrew and his more mature attention span.

“Plays for the Blackhawks.” Patrick muttered, slicing tomatoes for the nachos.

Andrew’s mouth dropped. “What?!”

“He plays for the Blackhawks, okay? He’s a fucking hockey player. He plays for the Blackhawks. Fuck you. It doesn’t matter.” He hadn’t meant to get loud. James and Leddy stopped bickering and and stared over. Patrick hoped they all caught flies with their mouths.

“Are you serious? Of course it matters!”

“Yeah, well, he asked me, so. I guess it doesn’t.” He slammed the knife down on the onions, chopping with vengeance, more shredding than dicing.

“Was it an ugly breakup?”

Patrick frowned. “I don’t think so. They were pretty friendly.” Jon hadn’t pretended he and Patrick weren’t there together or anything. At least Oshie wasn’t ten feet tall. He wasn’t that much taller than Patrick; he was just really fucking WIDE, all shoulders and biceps and muscular thighs straining his jeans.

“Maybe you’re Rebound Safety Guy.”

“That sounds like a football play.”

“It’s totally a thing, man. Rebound Safety guy is when someone tries to get their confidence back by picking up someone real easy.”

“Pat only got to first base! That’s not easy!” Leddy protested and Patrick kind of smiled at him but he was starting to suspect what Andrew was getting at.

“Cute. Not what I meant.” Andrew scooped up a Nacho and twirled the cheese around the chip. “He probably thought you were a sure thing. Now’s the time to play hard to get. Don’t call him back, avoid him. Even the playing field.”

“Shut up.” Patrick threw an oven mitt on the counter and walked over to the couch. They could make their own damn nachos.

No way did Jon think Patrick was a sure thing. Not with the way he had to barrel through Patrick’s attempts to NOT go on a date. Of course Patrick hadn't actually held out or anything. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do that when Jon busted out the brain melting kissing and the throat touching like Patrick had only seen in chick flicks with his sisters. Tyler hadn’t been very foreplay focused. Patrick had never cared. Now he realized he’d also never  really known any different.

And, yeah, he really needed to NOT play ‘compare the boyfriends’ right now.

Not that Jon was his boyfriend. Or anything.

Jesus Christ, he needed a beer.

Leddy sat at Patrick’s left with a plate of food and a Bud Lite, which he handed over because he was psychic. Patrick thanked god he had one normal friend. “I think he really likes you.”

“That is not the million dollar question, homie!” James bounced onto the sofa on his other side and Patrick almost dropped his beer. “Are you really into him?”

All three of them then looked at him while they munched nachos.

“He’s...he’s cool.” Patrick took a pull off his beer  and averted his eyes.

“‘He’s cool’?” Andrew repeated with a grin. “His car’s money, he doesn’t wear a hairnet for work, and you can bounce a quarter off his ass. What’s not cool?”

“I’m sure Pat likes him for more than his car!” Leddy said, actually sounding scandalized.

“I mentioned the ass.” Andrew said around a mouthful of cheese, tortilla chips, and ground beef.

“Fuck you.” Patrick said.

“I’m telling you: back off for a week or two. If he’s still there then it’s legit.” Andrew shrugged.

“Because that’s worked for you before?” Patrick rolled his eyes and wished they’d talk about anything besides his love life.

“Hey, I don’t aim for the rafters when I go out, huh? I stay around my numbers. Better for everyone.”

“Your numbers?” James asked before Patrick could, even though he was almost positive the exclamation would make no sense.

“Yeah. See, I’m a seven. There’s a three point spread so I date six through eights, maybe a nine here and there if they don’t have a nice car and haven’t had their tits done.”

Leddy scrunched his face in disapproval. “Quit using that word. It’s not a good word!”

“Fine. If they haven’t had their BOOBS done. Better?” “

“No.” Patrick said flatly. Seriously, Andrew was so full of shit. He’d never talk that way around Patrick’s sisters or his own mom because they would kick his ass.

“Shut up.” Andrew burped. “Anyway, you’re a five. Mr. Hotass is a nine at least. Loses a point for needing a rebound safety guy.”

“Hey! My boy’s not a five! He’s a least a six.” James protested.

Patrick turned cynical eyes  to him. “Thank you?”

James nodded and winked, thumping his chest in solidarity. Whatever.

“Hey, nothing but love for you. But you, my friend,” Andrew pointed with his beer, “ Are a five. You need a hot car or a good job to level up.”

“Get OUT. And what the hell makes you a seven? You live with your mom!”

“Good abs, decent job, and I like to give oral.”

“Pat likes…” Patrick pointed at James and James snapped his mouth shut and took a  subdued sip of his beer.

“Pat has good abs.” Nick said. Patrick didn’t answer because there was friendly loyalty and then there was this. It’s not like he wasn’t in shape or anything. He worked too hard at the store unloading the delivery truck, cleaning, restocking, a whole lot of physical shit, to not be in good shape. Still he knew, without visuals, that Jonathan’s abs were a thing of beauty. You couldn’t help but know; the compression shorts and tight exercise shirts he wore to the store didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.

“Just sayin’: you’re playing with fire. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Thanks for the input.” Patrick raised the volume on the game and they all got the hint at last.

As they watched, finally, thankfully moving on to other subjects of interest, Patrick decided he need the input of someone who didn’t actually think ‘tits’ was an acceptable term to use.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“‘Trick! Hey! How’d the date go?” Erica’s sounded rushed and slightly breathless like she always did when he called her out of the blue, but there was no mistaking the affection in her voice.

“Good. Really good. Hey, uhm, can we...you got a minute? I can call back…”

“Patty, you wanna talk about boys?”She teased.

“Just one.” Patrick said, smiling as he did the dishes and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Leddy had offered to help but there weren’t that many and he wanted to catch Erica before it got too late.

“As long as it’s not Tyler, I’m game.”

“He’s not that bad.” Patrick said automatically because it really had become habit to defend him; he didn’t even think about it and how he didn’t have to do it anymore.

“He really kind of is, Pat.” His sister sighed. “But, bygones! Tell me everything. I have about fifteen minutes now, but we can Skype later.”

“Am I a five?”

“On a scale of…? Oh, hold up. Did James call you a FIVE? Little pill! He’s, like, a negative number, what fucked up system is that?”

“No, it wasnt. Just. This guy is...he’s really together, Erica. Like, grown up together. And I have stupid hair and my car sucks and I smell like salami at the end of the night…”

“Pat, come on.” Erica’s voice got soft and warm and Pat frowned, blinking because his sisters were the fucking best. He didn’t deserve them. “You really think if he asked you out he cares about any of that? And your hair is a delight! I wish it were mine.”

“His ex is a Blackhawk.” He muttered, sprawling on the couch and closing his eyes.

“WHAT?” Apparently that was going to be the reaction. “Who?”

“Oshie. The new right wing.”

“TJ Oshie is your date’s ex?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Okay.”

_“I know.”_

“Patty, that has nothing to do with you.” Erica said firmly. “He asked you out again, right?”

“Fucking James.” Patrick bitched half-heartedly.

Erica laughed. “You should know he can’t keep secrets worth a damn. From what I hear your boy’s got a Mercedes and a killer ass?”

“He’s not my boy. Yet.” Patrick sighed, but smiled at the thought because Jonathan’s ass was smile-worthy.

“And you already have a second date. Just go with it and let it happen. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Did you have sex yet?”

“Oh, my god, SHUT UP.” Patrick covered his face with an arm, her laughter in his ear.

“So that’s a yes.” Erica surmised.

“NO! That’s a ‘no’!” Patrick corrected with fervor. “We’ve had one date!”

“Alright, excuse me!” Erica corrected, not sounding sorry even a little. “Just going by your track record, Patty.”

“We kissed in his car. That’s it.” Even though that sounded like a really pale version of how much that one kiss had thrown him back. For some reason he thought so much uptight Canadianess didn’t equal mind melting hotness, which had been so wrong,  because damn.

“Aw! You’re playing hard to get!”

“Fuck you, I am not! Just. I don’t know. I don’t think I trust it yet.”

“Are you still processing the break up?”

“No...”

“Are you sure?” Her voice sounded too kind for her own good.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m over it. Whatever. His loss.”

“Yeah, it is. You remember that. You’re an amazing person, ‘Trick.”

“You’re my sister. You’re supposed to say that.” Damn, he was getting all leaky again; he was such a girl.

“Nah. If you were being a dick I’d tell you that, too.”

“Well, that’s good, then.” They laughed together and the apprehensive knot that had begun to settle in his stomach after realizing he was a five began to loosen. It always did after he spoke with her.

“So, Skype later? I have a thing.”

“Nah, I’m good. Catch you next week.”

“Okay! Love you!”

Patrick told her he loved her and clicked off, laying there for a  few minutes, wondering about seeing Jon again and how much he wanted to.

At least, for the first time, he didn’t have to worry about what he was going to wear

JON

Patrick called Jon exactly five minutes before eleven on Sunday while Jon was reluctantly putting away the new bowling shoes he’d bought because Sharpy had laughed for twenty minutes straight when he saw them. The more Jon explained about germs and hygiene the more Sharpy cracked up, so the shoes were staying in their box even if Jon had expressly made time to go find them.

“I think I’m downstairs?” Patrick’s voice sounded strange and Jon laughed.

“You’re not sure if you’re downstairs? Do you need to check yourself?”

“No, I mean. Is this your building? With the park in front and….?”

“Yeah, this is me. I’ll be right down.” He hung up and slipped on a favorite thin leather jacket over  his grey Henley. This was as dressed down as he ever got unless he was just hanging at home. The dark washed jeans felt soft from washing and his boots were broken in and scuffed. He’d be taking them off anyhow to put on the shoes.

Running  a hand through his hair he headed out.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Patrick picked him up in the faded gray Ford Focus Jon remembered from Hawk’s training camp, though he hadn’t noticed the shiny new Blackhawks bumper sticker before. Jon turned to him as soon as he sat down but Patrick’s eyes were staring up at his condo through the windshield, mouth a little agape. Jon took a second to appreciate the exemplary span of neck and fringe of his eyelashes.

“Hey.”

“Uh. What floor do you live on?”

“Twelfth.”

“That’s a really nice…”

Jon cupped his jaw and turned him into a kiss, brushing into his mouth lightly. His lips were just as soft and warm as Jon remembered, and Patrick licked at him a little, a small brush that sent a flash of want up his spine. He felt Patrick’s hand steal around his neck, then slide down his chest, stopping over Jon’s heart. Pulling away finally he opened his eyes to Patrick’s heavy-lidded blue stare, mouth slick and used looking.

Jon wondered if he could abscond with him upstairs and to hell with the bowling.

“I just really wanted to do that again.” Jon admitted after too long of just staring at Patrick’s mouth. Patrick smiled and caught at his bottom lip with his teeth because he didn’t fight fair.

“Yeah?”

Jon nodded, eyes drawn inexorably back down Patrick’s smile, fuck’s sake, he had no control at all. He’d never been that guy, the one that looked at a girl’s chest when she spoke, or wolf-whistled as people walked by, or anything sophomoric like that. He didn’t join in if other people did it, either, which is why he could not believe his inability to not moon after Patrick Kane like a lovesick calf, really, what the hell.

“You gotta quit distracting me or we’re gonna be late.” Patrick leaned over and brushed their lips together one more time, the planes of his face kind of red. It looked really attractive, Jon thought helplessly.

“For bowling?”

“For sure! I reserved a lane.”

“We need reservations to bowl?” Bowling had apparently come a long way.

“Yeah, we do! If we want a good spot.”

“Makes sense.” Jon nodded as Patrick maneuvered the little car through traffic. “Should have a good spot to wipe the floor with you.”

“Oh, what?” Patrick laughed. “My game is on point. You’re so going down.”

“Your confidence is inspiring.”

“Damn right it is.”

“And misguided.”

“Fuck you.” Patrick returned with a laugh, dimples flashing as he drove, coaxing the small car’s cranky engine through second gear. Jon had never been in a car this small and his knees grazed the glove compartment every time they hit a pothole. Maybe he could move the seat back. “I bet you crash and burn.”

Jon sat back and took him in. He wore a black hoodie, jeans, and a backwards Hawk’s starter cap. His curls stuck out from beneath it, golden and haphazard, and his hand maneuvered the wheel easily, fingers relaxed and loose. At a red light he glanced at Jon, still grinning. Jon had never met someone who looked so intrinsically happy all the time.

“I bet I win.” Jon said.

“Are you legit betting me you’ll win at bowling?”

“If you accept.”

“What do I win?” Patrick challenged.

“I think I’ll keep that my secret until later.” None of what he wanted to win was appropriate. “What will you ask for if you win? Not that you will.”

Patrick glanced over as they turned a corner, look in his eyes positively indecent. Something sweet and low-down in Jon clenched.  “Maybe we should both wait and see.”

“Maybe.” Jon agreed, looking back out the window.  

  
They spoke casually on the way over, about the Hawk’s chances this year, Patrick’s work at Bockwinkels and how long he’s known Leddy and Andrew. The whole time Patrick never really lost the slight flush high on his cheeks, unsaid promises stretched between them like strings on a harp.


End file.
